


Multum in Parvo

by ReaperRain



Series: Ingens [5]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Size Kink, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperRain/pseuds/ReaperRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original DA K!Meme prompt: "Any pairing, any setting, just some between-the-legs loving." During a visit to the Dalish, Fenris gets a little possessive over Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Multum in Parvo

**MULTUM IN PARVO**

-

Fenris wasn't keen on the Dalish. He wasn't keen on elves or, for that matter _people_ in general, but the Dalish evoked a particular brand of dislike. Haughty, unrestrained, steeped in their own ridiculous traditions... too similar to magisters for his taste. That they allowed themselves to be led by a mage was even worse, and no matter how kindly the elder Marethari seemed, Fenris didn't trust her one bit. The Dalish didn't particularly like him either. He could've guessed that from their disdainful stares, but then one of them had the gall to call him 'shem'.

Honestly, he shouldn't have cared. He had more in common with humans anyway, when it came to racial pride and patriotism he was as much of an elf as Varric was. But it was the _way_ they said it, all sneering and superiority, as though the mud beneath their feet was worth more. Thousands of years of hatred for the people that cost them their immortality and culture rolled up into one word: _shem._

Infuriatingly, when he and Hawke went along together to Sundermount looking for Ironbark, only _he_ was treated this way. Hawke, who was actually human, was given a welcoming respect on account of the Keeper's honour of him. That, or they were too afraid of his gigantic frame to cuss him, though if they feared, they hid it well. Some of the younger clan members even seemed fascinated by him, having never seen someone quite so oversized before. They walked up to him, talked, even openly touched as though to confirm that his size wasn't simply an illusion, all the while completely disregarding the elf – _not_ shem – stood next to him, glowering as they handled his lover like common property. Garrett accepted their touches patiently and politely, as always. He'd probably been ogled before, and although it was likely just simple curiosity, it still made Fenris grit his teeth whenever another pair of wandering hands reached out.

There was also a more... personal cause to his aggravation.

It was stupid, really. He knew he could trust Garrett, the man would never break his word or betray him in any form. Only he couldn't help but think back to their first night together, when Hawke had sheepishly admitted that he found Fenris' small, slender frame a turn-on. All elves had that frame, and the Dalish were even more wiry than their city-born counterparts. Garrett had claimed that his tastes were specific to Fenris, not all elves, but he had his doubts sometimes.

It was nightfall when the two of them finished collecting Ironbark, too late to make the journey back to Kirkwall. Rather, the Keeper offered them hospitality for the night, a meal and an empty aravel of their own. Much as he wanted to get away from Sundermount and its snooty residents, Fenris had to agree that travelling back in the pitch-black darkness was not a smart idea.

They were invited -or rather, Hawke was invited, Fenris was grudgingly permitted – to sit and eat with the clan, listening to the Dalish tales of old. Fenris found them boring, but Hawke listened with rapt attention, keen to learn more and forge new alliances. Bright-eyed and talkative, surrounded by intrigued, even awed elves who were shorter, slimmer and more elf-like than him. True elves, not Tevinter slaves who coincidentally happened to have pointed ears.

One of them was touching his knee, and Hawke wasn't nudging her off or telling her to stop. She was pretty, delicate-looking, just as Hawke liked, and she probably didn't have any instability or emotional issues, amnesia, or sudden bouts of insecurity. She was asking about his family, she knew more about him in these last few hours than Fenris had learned in years; he'd never inquired into Hawke's past, it made him too wistful for his own lost memories. Now they were all talking about Ferelden and the white winters they missed, beautiful sights and thrilling hunts in the snow. And Fenris was silent, his throat closed tight, because he had _nothing to say._

“I'm tired. I'm going to turn in for the night,” he announced abruptly with his usual lack of social grace. Hawke, who had been mid-sentence, paused and looked at him, confused.

“Are you sure? It's not that late.”

“I'm tired,” he repeated, not having any other excuse. He wasn't in the slightest of course, he just wanted, _needed_ to get away. Running had always been his strong suite.

“Alright, I'll come with you-”

“There's no need,” he cut across him, standing up. He wanted to be alone, not have a pre-sleep discussion on everything the Dalish had talked of. “I know where the aravel is.”

“But-”

“Leave the shem be,” one of the Dalish called out, and Fenris almost flinched like he'd been shot, “Come, stay with us.”

“Al...alright,” Hawke nervously stayed in place, and that was all Fenris needed to know he wasn't needed anymore. He marched over to the aravel, ducked inside, and hissed out a stream of curses, switching freely between Tevinter and Qunari, under his breath.

 _Shem._ Of course, he was practically dirt compared to the Dalish, wasn't he? He supposed a proper elf would know the lore, and what all the Creators were called, and the correct way to raise a halla. All Fenris knew was slavery.

Hawke had said he didn't have an elf fetish. But he had a definite favouritism for elves, he strove for better conditions at the alienage, he always stopped to speak to Jethann at the Rose and Tomwise in Darktown, and he commanded the respect of the notoriously hard-to-please Dalish... it wasn't difficult to imagine Garrett not simply liking elves, but lusting after them as well. Maybe that was the only reason Hawke desired him in the first place; it couldn't have been for his personality, Fenris was acutely aware that he was, as some delicately put it, 'hard work'. But now Hawke had started talking to a whole camp full of people who were everything that he had seen in Fenris, only more so.

 _Venhedis_ , he didn't want to think about this. Fear and insecurity soon gave way to anger, already apparent as he furiously stripped off his armour, and there was nothing around here he could punch without having to pay for property damages afterwards. He settled into the nest of furs – all hunted and skinned by the Dalish – and tried, valiantly but fruitlessly, to get to sleep. But it was difficult when he was surrounded by so many things reminding him of what he was not: the scent of the wilderness, the noise of rustling trees, crackling camp fire, chatting elves and approaching footsteps.

Footsteps?

He recognised that gait. The thuds of someone large and heavy, a little more hurried than his usual leisurely pace. Fenris stifled a groan, he did _not_ want to speak with anyone right now, or explain why he had suddenly turned so grouchy, at least more so than usual. And yet, despite exerting extraordinary mental willpower wishing the man away, the curtain at the aravel's entrance was drawn back, revealing a concerned Garrett.

“Fenris-”

“I'm _fine,_ ” he ground out before anything more could be said, “Just tired.”

“It's too early to be tired. Are you ill?”

Aha, the perfect excuse. “I do feel a little off,” he lied, “Mountain air and such.”

Garrett frowned, “I'll go and fetch the Keeper to heal you.”

His eyes widened, bluff already called. “No no, I can just sleep it off,” he hastily blurted out.

“Well it might be serious. She should really have a look.”

A surge of panic, that old woman would see through him straight away, “I do not want the help of a mage-”

“One of the other Dalish, then.”

“Just some rest-”

“You're not really sick, are you?” Garrett asked quietly.

He faltered. Sometimes, beyond the kind patience, earnest honesty and general _niceness_ of Hawke, he forgot that he could also be a very clever man. “...No. I'm not.”

“Then what's the matter?” Garrett climbed into the aravel, which tilted and groaned slightly with his weight, “You've been quiet ever since we reached Sundermount.”

“I'm just... not comfortable around the Dalish.” Not willing to face Hawke, he rolled in his bed so his back was turned. He could feel a hand hovering worriedly over his shoulder, but it never made contact.

“No-one is comfortable around the Dalish. They're hostile to all outsiders.”

“Not to you, apparently,” Fenris muttered under his breath. However Hawke was quite good at deciphering antisocial mumbling – plenty of practice – so he heard every word.

“What do you mean? They don't treat me that differently.”

“They just spent the entire evening talking to you, asking about your family.”

“Interrogating me, more like. I think they were trying to figure out if I was really a human or a bearded Qunari.”

“Then what about all those Ferelden hunting stories?”

“I was more listening than talking. I don't hunt that much... claymore doesn't, uh, lend itself that well to stealth.”

“And the girl stroking your knee?” he couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.

A bewildered pause, “There was a girl stroking my knee?”

Fenris scowled, though Hawke couldn't see it, “She was sat right next to you. Don't try to say you didn't notice.”

“I was looking at her face, not her hands,” if the confusion in Hawke's voice was faked, it was perfectly executed, “I can't feel a thing through my armour. Was she really stroking my knee?”

Fenris wasn't sure whether to believe his claim of innocence, and the uncertainty only made him more aggravated. “Yes, she was,” he snapped venomously, “Had you realised you could have derived greater enjoyment from it, I'm sure.”

“Enjoyme- Fenris?” Hawke's tone softened with the realisation, the kindly, soothing tone he always used when smoothing over any would-be arguments before they began. Only Fenris didn't want to be calmed down, he wanted to be good and angry. He _deserved_ to be good and angry if his partner was going to leave him for greener Dalish pastures, “What makes you think I would enjoy it?”

“Why not? She's pretty, delicate, _Dalish._ And I'm just a lowly shem, or at least that's what I've been told all day.”

“They called you a shem?” another spike of anger at the fact that Hawke hadn't even noticed, “I don't see why that would bother you. You barely identify as elvish.”

Fenris abruptly sat up so he could fully glare at him. “Yes, thank you for reminding me that I am not a _proper_ elf. Since I don't live in a tent and talk to trees I suppose I must be somehow inferior.”

“What? No – I meant-” Hawke stumbled as he realised the poor choice of wording, “I _meant,_ you've always shrugged off those kind of comments before. I don't see why it matters to you now.”

“It does when your partner obviously has an elf fetish.”

Garrett blinked wildly, “Huh?”

“Don't play innocent. You said yourself that you found my frame attractive.”

“ _Your_ frame, not elves in general.”

“All elves look like this. Small, slender. That's what you like, isn't it?” he spoke through gritted teeth, continuing before Garrett could make any protests, “That's why you visit the alienage so often.”

“I just fix up the houses, they're in ruins-”

“So is Darktown. So is most of Kirkwall for that matter. Speaking of, what about that elf in Darktown you talk to so often?”

“Tomwise? He makes poisons, it's just business-”

“And that Jethann in the Rose? He offers himself often enough. Is he 'business' too?”

“What? No! I don't want any of them-”

“No, they're probably not elvish enough, not compared to the _Dalish._ Well, now you have a camp full of them, you must be spoilt for choice. Go on then, you can pick one of _their_ aravels to stay in for the night.” With that, he lay back down facing away from Hawke, or rather slammed back down with such force that the pillows scattered. It was a childish action, perhaps, but the only way he could convey his anger without putting his fist through something, or someone.

Hawke didn't move. He was silent for a while, then he said, very quietly, “If you think I'm only with you for your shape, I obviously haven't been a very good partner.”

Fenris said nothing, he was still angry, still upset and deep down, still _fearful_ that Hawk really would leave and find someone else. He might've dismissed Hawke's words, but the earnest, hushed tone gave him pause.

The warrior went on, tentatively but truthfully: “You're different to anyone else I've met. Fierce, wild, tough.”

“Isn't that exactly what the Dalish are?”

“As a unit, maybe. As individuals, they would struggle without the strength in numbers. But you... you've always stood alone, without any kind or support.”

“I never had much of a choice,” Fenris pointed out.

“You could have stayed with Danarius. Many people would rather suffer predictably than venture out into a world of unknowns,” said Garrett. “You're much stronger than even _you_ realise, I think.”

His hands curled and uncurled into one of the blankets. Not nervous enough to be called fidgeting, but with a certain anxiety to it. “...Just not strong enough to ignore it when someone calls me 'shem',” he muttered at last, feeling foolish.

“We all have our sore spots. I can overlook most of the names I get called, but there's a few that always get to me.”

Fenris rolled over, facing him again. He'd heard a few muttered comments about Hawke as he passed, but the man never seemed affected. He was always so composed, it was difficult to imagine him ever being hurt or angry. “Which ones?”

“'Qunari'. Do I look like I have horns?” he tutted, “Not that I don't like the Qunari, but it's annoying to keep correcting people all the time. The Dalish kept bringing it up too.”

The thought of Hawke being secretly disgruntled beneath his calm and polite bearing put Fenris at ease, strangely enough. His lover wasn't as enamoured with the clan as he'd first thought. “Annoying, but not upsetting. That's not the worst one, then.”

“It's not really worth repeating,” Garrett gave him a small smile, but there was a pain beneath it, a fragility he'd never seen from the man before. “It's just a – it's stupid, and I should know better than to listen, but I can't help it.”

He sat up, truly interested now. “What is it? You can tell me.”

After some hesitation, Garrett mumbled something. If Fenris' hearing wasn't so well-honed he might've missed it; as it was he froze in place, scarcely believing what he had heard.

“'Monster'?” he repeated incredulously.

Despite himself, Garrett flinched slightly. It was an ugly word, the kind to creep under the skin and soak into the mind. He'd been called it a few times himself by the people Danarius had sent him to kill, but he'd always shrugged it off. Partially because back then only Danarius' opinion of him had mattered, partially because it wasn't an insult as much as a true statement. What else did you call someone who could crush a heart inside its chest? But to think that anyone would call _Hawke_ that...

“Some people, they see my size, and they forget that there's actually a person in here,” Garrett explained, still wearing that pained little grimace-smile that made Fenris want to both smooth it away and demand names so he could hunt the culprits down later. “Similar to how they... how they see you and your markings, actually. I know it's not quite the same, I don't mean to be presumptuous-”

Fenris abruptly put a finger to Garrett's lips, hushing him before he could further babble. “You're not a monster, Hawke.”

The fragile expression softened, and Hawke grasped one large but not in any way monstrous hand over his. “I know. And I know you're not a monster either, there's more to you than the lyrium. It just hurts to hear it, you know? Or to know that someone's _thinking_ it, even if the don't say anything.” His thumb stroked affectionately over Fenris' knuckles, “You're one of the few people who didn't look at me like that when we first met.”

Fenris remembered. Even at night, Hawke's form had been clearly visible, but he'd been too pent up and fuelled with the need to find Danarius to really take notice. Then Hawke had helped him, visited him at his new home, befriended him. Not once had the thought 'monster' crossed his mind, Hawke's size was what it was, there was nothing frightening about it. He'd never associated size with fear; the Fog Warriors had been about Hawke's build, the first people to show him freedom and happiness before... before...

Before he'd become a monster.

But he was no longer under Danarius' command. He was his own person now, and there _was_ more to him than the lyrium, So then, Hawke liked him not for his appearance, but for a sense of kinship... yes, he could understand that, and reciprocate it. Though he was mostly just vehement that anyone would treat Hawke as such in the first place.

“I suppose I help out elves so much because if _they're_ not scared of me, I know there's no need for humans to be,” Garrett confessed quietly, “The dwarves don't seem affected, but I suppose they're used to golems and such.”

“So you're not attracted to elves at all, then?”

“Not particularly. I still help them for personal gain, in a way, which is selfish. I should've just told you that from the start, but I didn't want you to think any less of me. Er, you don't, do you?”

“No, but... you did say you liked my size,” Fenris frowned, looking at his elven hands fully enclosed in Garrett's. “Why? Surely it makes you feel bigger.”

“It does,” he said with a nod, “But it also reminds me that it doesn't matter, I can still have a lover like everyone else. Someone who I – who means a lot to me.”

Fenris paused at the wording fumble. Had Garrett been about to say...? No, that couldn't be right. Hawke was unhurried and cautious in all things, he wouldn't be so rash with his feelings. The notion was strangely warming to him, but... it be would presuming too much. A life spent serving the whims of another had taught him never to have unfounded hope, and so he dismissed the thought before it could eat away at him any further.

“I doubt you would have any trouble finding a partner,” he told the man. Once you got over his size, Garrett was as likeable as they came. He didn't have the same social awkwardness and aloofness as Fenris, the insecurity, the bouts of possessive behaviour over Dalish elves. “I'm sorry for doubting you,” he said suddenly, aware that he hadn't made any amends yet.

A shrug, “I'm sorry for giving you any reasons to doubt.”

Fenris opened his mouth to correct him as to who was at fault here, but as Garrett leaned forwards to catch Fenris' lips with his own, it was swiftly forgotten.

It was slow, languid, like most of Hawke's affections. Fenris basked in it, closing his eyes to better feel the myriad of sensations: the faint tingle of his mouth, the soft fur against his exposed skin, the warmth of Garrett's hands curled around his own. Those hands shifted away, stroking up his arms and the rough, scar-like texture of his monstrous markings. Yet... Hawke did not see him as a monster. The thought made him feel uplifted, _free_ , just as Isabela had described her seafaring days. He closed the gap between them to deepen the kiss, and yet it felt like air after drowning.

When their contact grew more heated, less chaste touches and more hands roaming over each other, Garrett pulled back and said, pleasingly breathless, “Are you sure you want to do this here?”

True enough, in his haste he had forgotten that they were in a cramped aravel, barely big enough for the two of them. One prone to shifting and rocking about with vigorous movement, and with canvas walls that betrayed any loud noise. Even set away from the main camp for privacy, they could easily end up alerting the Dalish. There wouldn't be any doubt as to what he was doing with Hawke.

Mind made up, Fenris kissed Garrett aggressively, possessively, “I'm sure.”

Before any protests could be made he climbed onto Garrett's lap, using his weight to push the giant man back. Even muffled by the furs, there was a heavy thud as he landed, along with the creaking tilt of the aravel. But Fenris paid it no mind as he straddled the narrowest part of Hawke's waist – still wide enough, compared the the diminutive elven form, for force Fenris' legs far apart. His hands splayed against a solidly muscular chest as he arched over Hawke, not quite reaching his mouth but able to kiss his throat and jaw.

“We shouldn't...”

“Why not? It's nothing they haven't heard before.” Even the Dalish had to multiply their numbers somehow, and the aravels were hardly soundproof.

“But we're guests, it's inappropriate.”

“ _They're_ inappropriate. Unless, of course, you agree with them calling me a shem.”

“Of course not,” Garrett hastily corrected himself, craning his neck down to place a lopsided kiss against his lover's temple.

“Then you agree that this is a good a place as any. Fitting, even.”

“That's got nothing to do with – oh, fine. Just this once.” The slow grinding Fenris was doing against Hawke may have contributed to this change of heart. “So long as you keep it quiet.”

“I won't make a sound,” Fenris promised, holding back a smug grin. He didn't talk much during sex – among other things – anyway, conditioned from years of not speaking unless spoken to, or perhaps he just didn't see the point in unnecessary words. Either way, he had no trouble staying silent. Whether _Garrett_ could do the same was another matter.

He started with slowly running his hands down the man's chest, undoing the ties of his under-armour leathers. The rest of his bulky, heavy armour had been discarded earlier, both as personal relief and a show of trust towards the Dalish – Fenris' armour had stayed on, naturally. Beneath the leathers was simple linens, and underneath those was a muscular, hirsute torso. Running his hands through the curls of hair gave Garrett the same calmed, content expression that his mabari got during belly rubs... not that he would ever tell Garrett that.

He pushed the layers of clothing as far back as they would go, just hanging off his biceps, rather than coaxing him to sit and discard them fully. In keeping with the flow of things, and he assumed Garrett might be uncomfortable being fully naked outside the privacy of his home. The material framed his form, conveyed the broadness of his shoulders. Fenris mouthed his way along the collarbones, placing a single kiss to the hollow dip in the centre.

“Fenris...” Garrett said quietly, wondrously. His vast hands stroked along the elf's thighs, the warmth of his skin felt through the thin material.

Fenris offered him a brief smile before wriggling down further so he could unlace Hawke's breeches. Tugged down only to mid-thigh before he drew him out, the length – perfectly in proportion to the rest of him, aka huge – weighty in his palm. He was still mostly flaccid, although the light application of fingers soon had him stirring with interest. He never failed to notice just how small and slender his hands looked when stroking up and down Hawke's cock. Neither did Hawke, since his breathing became a little heavier and harsher at the sight.

When he was half-hard, Fenris let go and repositioned himself, hissing when their groins touched. With the way his leggings clung to him, they did a poor job at hiding his own forming erection, and he knew Hawke could feel it as clearly as he did when they stroked against each other. He began a slow thrusting motion, hearing the other warrior's breath catch in his throat, but no further sound. Unsatisfied, he pressed harder, and earned a loud groan before Garrett slapped a hand over his own mouth, mortified.

“I said to keep it quiet!” he whispered urgently.

Fenris raised an eyebrow, not quite able to keep the smugness at bay: “ _I_ am not making any noise.”

“Well stop – stop doing those things to me, then.”

“You're the one who must be sufficiently warmed up beforehand. Also, I've barely done anything to you.” To prove this, he angled himself and rubbed their very tips together.

“ _Aah-!_ ” the keening cry was abruptly cut off as Hawke bit down on his lower lip, holding back any noise. That lasted all of a few minutes when Fenris got to work again; his grinding became a shallow thrust, increasing in pace as Garrett's shuddering breaths progressed to faint sounds from the back of his throat, then a constant, drawn-out moan. It only tapered off when Garrett realised how much the aravel was tilting with Fenris' motions. “Wait! We need to lay down, we're moving about too much.”

Fenris frowned. Riding Garrett was one of his favourite positions, it fulfilled both his need for control and his possible-slavery-throwback desire to please... but Hawke's weight combined with Fenris' momentum was too much for the aravel, it seemed. He personally didn't give a care if the Dalish saw the caravan rocking, but Garrett obviously did, and therefore he had no choice but to comply. At Hawke's behest he lay beside him, both on their sides facing each other. Shifting so their hips aligned left him at roughly chest height to his oversized lover, breathing in the musk of his furred skin, enclosed by his warmth.

He guided them together, the leaking pre-come of Hawke's cock smearing across the front of his leggings and sure to stain, but he could clean or cover it later. His free hand cupped and lightly squeezed the balls, fondling beneath, behind. Again he coaxed Garrett out of silence, hearing ragged pants and the occasional gasp above his head.

“Fenris,” Garrett groaned at last, the sound reverberating in his cavernous chest with a rumble that seeped into the body next to him, and made Fenris' entire being hum with pleasure . “Leggings off – can't wait anymore-”

He wriggled out of his leggings and smalls, the material clinging to him as it went, wet from the inside. Garrett rolled over onto his stomach, dragging his backpack towards him to look for their standard sword-oil lubricant. This continued for some time, his motions growing gradually more frantic.

“Well?” Fenris asked impatiently.

“Can't find it...” Hawke muttered, rummaging through, “I don't – I don't think I brought any...”

“You didn't _bring_ any?”

“I wasn't exactly anticipating sex. I thought we'd be back in Kirkwall before sunset,” his tone was patient, but the way he shoved the pack away indicated his frustration. “No, I've left it all at home.”

“Isn't there a healing salve or balm we could use instead?”

“We're all out. That's why I kept stopping to pick up elfroot.”

“One of the Dalish might-”

“ _No,_ ” Hawke said with uncharacteristic sternness. “It's bad enough we're doing this in one of their caravans, I'm not going to ask them to supply the lube as well.”

Fenris was silent for a moment, and then: “We... could always try without.”

Garrett's frown gentled somewhat. “You know that's not possible, Fenris,” he answered quietly. With his size, his cock didn't go anywhere without a ridiculous amount of oil and a lot of slicked preparation. “If we used spit you could maybe take me... but it would still hurt, and you know I don't like rough sex.”

He didn't, as Fenris had found out during his more possessive bouts. Biting, marking and _claiming_ lost most of its appeal when the receiver derived more pain than pleasure from the ordeal.

“We'll just have to finish up another way,” Hawke continued, rolling back over to face Fenris properly, “Hands, mouth, or...”

He looked thoughtful at that last word. Fenris was intrigued. “Or?” he echoed.

“Back in Ferelden, some of the people I, um, fooled around with-” Fenris tensed at that. He knew Hawke hadn't been a virgin prior to their relationship, but he didn't like the thought of Hawke with other people at _all._ “-Once they saw my size they didn't want to, well, you know. So we just kind of – rubbed.”

“Like we were doing earlier?” _Much_ nicer mental images

“No, more like – here, I'll show you,” a wide hand slipped between the Tevinter's thighs, parting them slightly. He shifted a little closer, then pushed his length into the gap. Fenris shuddered as he felt the slide of flesh on flesh, Garrett's hardness pressed against his underside and sac. “Then you just kind of thrust. This isn't really the best position for it, maybe it's not a good idea...” he started to pull out.

“Don't,” he placed a hand on the man's shoulder to still him, “I like it. It's... interesting.”

Encouraged, Garrett rocked back and forth a few times, though the limited movement kept the aravel from rocking with them. The heat of the night and their previous actions had built up a sweat between them which slicked the way; the position may have been awkward, but Hawke was able to pull in and out, hissing softly at the friction of Fenris' thighs. Each motion scraped against Fenris' balls, and their close proximity rubbed his cock against Hawke's stomach. But still, it wasn't enough.

“Hold on,” he grunted, wrapping an arm around Hawke's waist. The sweat made it tough to get any kind of hold, but with some effort he was able to shift up and down, Hawke's cock still between his thighs, almost as though he were riding it. When Hawke's free arm – the one not currently pinned beneath Fenris – reached down, his hand wrapping firmly around the elf's shaft, he had to choke back a cry. His pledge of silence was still in effect, after all. Just to ensure he still had the upper hand, he pressed his thighs tightly together, squeezing the erect length between them. The other man's low groan was reassurance enough.

Such was the length and curvature of Garrett's cock, each thrust put it not only between Fenris' thighs, but up into the crevice of his ass. Eager to feel more, he lifted one leg, draping it over Hawke's hip.

The extra closeness and parting of his cheeks pushed the tip of the cock against his entrance, not going in, but nudging with just enough pressure to make his entire body tingle.

“Maker, you feel s-so good...” It was then, when he heard that little stammer, that he knew Garrett was close to coming. He clenched his thighs and cheeks together, eliciting a choked sound from Hawke, then a deep, rumbling groan that soaked them both. His own cries were suppressed, biting down on his lower lip to keep them in check, but Hawke made enough noise for them both. When Fenris smoothly rolled his hips in time to a thrust Garrett cried out, his earlier pledge of quiet forgotten in the heat of lust.

He too approached his climax. The pressure against his ass, the rubbing friction on his balls, the shaft sandwiched between their slick bodies and the very head played with by Hawke's large but skilled hands... he bucked and squirmed more desperately against the other warrior as he drew nearer. The man's fingers picked up the pace, swiping and stroking and squeezing _just so-_

He toppled at last with a great ragged breath but no scream, white noise in his ears and blood on his lip from biting too hard. His arms and legs wrapped tightly around Hawke's frame, his semen painted both their stomachs. Hawke found his release not long after, tensing around him; the cock between his thighs twitched warningly before coming in thick, hot spurts. Over the heavy thudding of both their hearts, he barely heard the single, raw cry of _Fenris._

And then... everything relaxed.

Slowed by pleasurable drowsiness, Fenris shifted his legs so the other could pull out his rapidly-softening length, then wriggled up to the crook of his neck. Garrett, in response, wrapped his free arm around Fenris' waist to draw him in. In the low light you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. His spend was still there and would be sticky later, but for now he didn't care. He just wanted to enjoy the hazy, lazy post-coital glow.

Until Garrett's eyes snapped open, entire body freezing up.

Fenris frowned at him, “What is it?”

“The furs.” He understood only when Garrett sat up, checking the heavy blankets and pelts furnishing the aravel – which probably weren't intended for making love on, “Oh _Maker_ they're soaked...”

Fenris watched, admittedly with a great deal of amusement, as Hawke sacrificed his own shirt to frantically scrub at the mess. It hardly mattered, with the noise he'd made most of the Dalish probably knew what they'd done anyway though he decided against pointing this out, not wishing to worry his lover any further. Instead he ran a hand slowly and sensually across those broad shoulders and curled his fingers into that mop of dark, slightly damp hair, which was enough to distract and coax Garrett away from his panicked task. His signature after-orgasm lethargy soon kicked in and barely before he'd laid back down, he was out like a light. Fenris joined him, and had good dreams about the upcoming reactions of the Dalish.

He wasn't disappointed, there were innumerable glares the next morning as he walked through the camp. The fact that they were aimed solely at him and not Garrett as well suggested they were born of envy rather than disapproval. In particular, the woman who had touched Hawke's leg gave him the dirtiest look he'd ever been on the end of. He countered it with a satisfied smirk, which only made her expression darken further. Garrett ducked his head shyly when talking to the Keeper, mumbling his thanks for her hospitality. She gave them both a knowing look, but politely declined the coin she was surreptitiously offered.

He left the camp, easily shrugging off the mutters of 'shem' behind him. Whereas Garrett was now considerably less comfortable in their company, mortified as he was. He probably wouldn't be able to talk the man into public sex again, though he was tempted to try. There were, after all, quite a few people who needed reminding just who Hawke belonged to.


End file.
